5. Forgotten memories.

WILDA.

Men! I roll my eyes.

“Is it an ego thing?” Greg refuses to answer me as we walk around campus aimlessly looking for a free bench to sit on till our next class.

“How do you know him?” I press on.

“His father is a famous CEO; you should really try to keep up with current events.” His voice is annoyed, but I’m not done with my interrogation.

“I don’t think I believe you. It seems like you guys know each other from somewhere else, he practically ran from class…”

Greg smiles wickedly. “He did, didn’t he, do you think I’m intimidating?”

“As intimidating as a mosquito.” I roll my eyes trying not to encourage him, even though I had noticed the change on his face when he had addressed Conan. And if I’m being honest, he could be intimidating if he wanted. We have been friends for almost two years now, and I have never considered Gregory to be threatening until I saw him speak to Conan today.

“Mosquitoes spread malaria. They kill more people than any other animal in the world. Remember that.” We both smile as we settle on a bench and he pulls out a sandwich from his bag.

He offers me some, but I shake my head.

“Are we really going to do the assignment with him?” I ask.

“I don’t see why not.” He shrugs, his mouth full. "Unless, of course, he is too intimidated." He laughs to himself.

“Well, this will be interesting.” I sigh.

Someone settles right between us on the bench. I lift my eyes from my cellphone to find my brother’s green eyes staring back at me.

“Wilda, how has your day been so far?” he does not wait for an answer. He turns to Greg, offering his hand out to him. “Gregory, long time no see! How have you been? I haven’t seen you in so long I was worried you were avoiding me.”

Greg laughs nervously.

Damian turns Greg’s hand in his own, caressing the ring he wears on his middle finger with his thumb.

“Beautiful ring this is, have I ever told you? Very rare, where did you get it? I want one for myself.”

This time I can see it's Greg that is trying to pull his hand away. His eyes dart around the park nervously, avoiding my brother’s eyes. What the hell is wrong with these people? Is it a man thing?

“Family heirloom.” He answers, his voice tight.

“Right, what a shame.  It would have been fiery on my finger.” My brother’s voice is thick with venom.

When he pulls his hand from Greg’s, his thumb is an angry red. He smiles and turns to me.

“We are leaving.”

“I have a class?” I mean to say, but it comes out as a question, my voice is small.

He stands up and offers me his hand. I take it.

“Gregory will make some good notes. Won't you, Greg?” he asks smiling.

“Of course.” He answers, his eyes on the field behind us.

I offer him a weak smile as I leave.

“Bye.” I wave.

“Bye,” he waves back.

“You two are so cute, when are you getting married?” Damian asks, loud enough for Greg to hear as we walk away.

I choose to remain quiet, having learned from past experiences that nothing comes out of arguing with him.

In the car, he sits beside me in the back, and I end up sandwiched between him and Fiona. He swings his hand over my shoulder carelessly. In another world, this action would have comforted me. In this one, my heart beats hard in anticipation of a painful remark. A knife in my back.

What did I do wrong? Will he punish me for this morning? Did he find out about my incident with Conan this morning?

My brother always finds something to be mad about. Even though he has a better relationship with Fiona, she too walks on eggs around him. Everyone is always cautious not to make him angry.

“You are always so nervous around me Wilda, relax, I don’t bite,” he laughs. “Actually, I do, but I would never bite you.”

Fiona chuckles beside me. My spine stiffens in response.

“Anyway,” he says, his voice serious again. “I have bad news, you remember Shana? Shana Collins? She was our nanny growing up.”

I nod.

“Well, she is dead, and her husband too.” He pauses for a minute, watching my reaction. My heart constricts at the news, but even then, I never knew her very well and I don’t know how to feel. I make sure my face remains blank.

“We have been called to identify her body,” he continues, “she has no relatives around, her sister will fly in by tomorrow to take her daughter. I thought we should go as a family, you know, put up a strong front.”

I nod. This has nothing to do with putting up a strong front, I realize. My brother has a motive for going there and takes the two of us as a cover. Father used to do the same. He would take me to the police station for ‘orientation’ because I was ‘interested in joining law enforcement,’ then he would leave me on my own and wander off away in the cells.

When we arrive at the coroner’s, he hands me a black trench coat to wear over my blouse and jeans. I take it without question, understanding that I have to look the part.

The halls leading to the coroner’s office smell like what I assume death smells like. I imagine the reaper hanging around the dark corners of the dimly lit rooms and a chill travels down my back.

We are allowed in without question, the officer at the door recognizing my brother.

Describing the sight that meets my eyes when the coroner lifts the sheet off Shana’s still body as gruesome would be an understatement. Blood. That is the first thing that registers in my mind. Half of Shana’s face is missing, the skin that covers the mouth and chin hanging off to the side and exposing bloody teeth and gums.

Her face, what is left of it, is recognizable enough. One of her ears is missing. My eyes travel down where her chest should be to find a gaping hole. My breath comes in short. I tear my eyes from the sight to find my brother watching me closely. For some reason, I am tempted to put on a sobbing show.

“That’s her alright.” He says, looking away, His face is unreadable.

My old nanny’s husband’s body is no better. I tear my eyes away from his marred body before the image cements itself into my brain.

“Yeah, that’s him. What did this?” Damian asks.

“I will put everything in my report when I’m done.” The coroner says dismissively.

My brother smiles, taking the hint and leading us out. It is then that I notice that Fiona is crying. Stoic, unbothered Fiona, has her face buried in a handkerchief, sobbing quietly.

She cries all the way to Shana’s house. Damian rubbed her back. I sit by the window and stare at the passing cars, my mind blank.

Shana’s little kid, Ava, is brought to the car by a police officer. Soon after she gets in, Damian leaves and disappears behind the yellow-taped house.

“Where is he going?” I ask Fiona, in an attempt to make conversation.

“Of course, that is what you care about,” she scoffs. “Do you even care that the woman who changed your diapers is dead? Are you even worried about anything? Do you care about anything?”

Well, I sigh, I tried. But I should have known better.

she is about to start again when Ava whimpers beside her. She seems to come to herself, gathering the little kid in her arms and holding her close, after throwing me a deadly glare.

“It’s okay, Ava,” she whispers soothingly in the little kid’s ear. I watch them quietly as we wait for Damian to return.

As always, Fiona has succeeded in making me feel like shit. Why do I feel nothing? Don’t I have any empathy? Why will I not cry? Why can’t I feel emotions the same way other people can? Am I a bad person?

Damian returns as if from a mission. He settles back beside me and orders the driver to take us all home.

Suddenly, he turns to me.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

What am I supposed to say? I feel nothing. What on earth am I supposed to say?

“Seeing a gruesome sight like that can be traumatic, are you okay?” he presses.

“Did it remind you of something?” he continues.

My head swims.

“Damian, stop,” Fiona warns, her voice cautious.

He ignores her. “Did you know that is how father was killed?” my heart hammers in my chest.  “They said it was an animal attack, but you remember, right?”

“Damian,” Fiona’s voice is shaky.

My heart beats harder in my chest. My body feels light my breath coming in short breaths and making my chest hurt. What is he talking about? I wonder, as a headache begins to settle in my head and unwanted images of my dead nanny fill my head.

“You remember right, you were there?” his voice taunts, “all that blood, it’s hard to forget.”

Blood. Lots of blood.

“I was there?” I hear my voice ask.

“Yes, do you remember?”

The intensity of my headache increases. So much blood. I press my hands against my head.

Images of an unfamiliar day fill my head. A body on the grass… and blood… so much blood. An image of something big and white, then I see my father’s eyes look at me. I was there?

The world becomes blurry, everything begins to spin and my eyes begin to close.

“I told you to stop Damian. Kate said not to push.” My sister is saying, but I hear her as if from another room, as my muscles weaken.

“Fuck Kate, we need to know what happened to father, or people will continue to die.” My brother is saying as I feel myself float away.

My knees meet my head as I fall forward and let the darkness that is so welcoming consume me.